Ten Songs
by HI MY NAME IS uncool
Summary: In which the character John Myers is explored through ten short stories, inspired by ten songs. They range from light PG to heavy PG13. Most of these deal with the relationship between John and Hellboy, in the gay sense. Meaning slash. Enjoy.


I don't claim to own any of these songs or any of the characters mentioned within. This was written in response to a challenge posted on the livejournal community rednboyscout. It's the standard "put the music player on random, write ten drabbles for the first ten songs that play" gimmick. And, hey, it worked. Oh, and for anyone interested in the John Myers/Hellboy pairing: please go check out red(underscore)n(underscore)boyscout on lj. It's a fun, fun place and we need more people. :D

WARNING: SLASH, COARSE LANGUAGE, IMPLIED GORE, IMPLIED DRUG USE

**TEN SONGS**  
by: Bee

**Regina Spektor; Hero Of The Story & Bartender**

John Myers spins the quarter on the bar and shakes his head. Doesn't even know what he's doing here. He's no drinker. Sober every day of his life. The quarter wobbles, falters and falls on its side. Without even looking, he picks it up and flicks it again.

There's a girl playing a piano on the stage behind him. Her voice is clear but she sounds like she's crying as she pounds the keys. He'll bet anything – his next paycheck, his moped, his dignity, not that he has any of that left – that her boyfriend beats her. He closes his eyes as the quarter starts spinning off center. He's about to spin it again when someone slams their palm down on the counter. He looks up. Bartender. Angry. John sighs and pockets the quarter.

"You gonna order something?" John shakes his head. "Then get the fuck outta my bar. You're scaring customers."

**Mae; Breakdown**

He's not used to things going so well. It's seamless – the easy transition from being coworkers to friends to "involved" (because John doesn't know if he can call Hellboy a boyfriend and lover is just too ten cent romance novel for him) – and it terrifies him.

John finds himself holding his breath at random times. When Hellboy enters a room, leaves a room, makes a comment, touches him, _touches_ him, kisses him, pushes him down onto the bed... He can't breathe, can't do anything, but stare. Hellboy asks him about it, finally, as they're lounging around in one of those demonic dry spells – the ones where they have nothing to do for weeks at a time.

"What's with you?" Is his way of asking: _is there something soul-shatteringly terrifying that you wish to discuss?_

"I don't know." And then he starts stuttering and babbling about perfection and how there's far too much of it in their relationship and he's just waiting for things to fall apart and he knows it's going to happen because it's him and he's not really easy to live with and –

"I love you, y'know," Hellboy interrupts and surfs channels.

"What?"

"You heard me."

**Kill Hannah; Agent Orange Skies**

Hellboy complains about not getting out enough. Not getting to see human life in action. All he knows about humans is that they are loud – screaming faces and blurred voices. And fragile. Very fragile in the way that they break easily – bones, spirits, hearts and all.

John's envious. He wishes he could hide away in a vault for months and months. He would give anything to have that life – to not have to walk past the methadone clinic on his way to pick up coffee and bagels (one cinnamon raisin for Liz, two dozen jalapeño for Hellboy and sesame for every-fucking-one else); to not have to dodge the clusters of homeless addicts lining up for their morning fix (one cinnamon raisin for Liz, two dozen jalapeño for Hellboy and sesame for every-fucking-one else, he says silently); to not have to hear their jeering moans and slurred arguments (one cinnamon raisin for Liz, two dozen jalapeño for Hellboy and sesame for every-fucking-one else, he repeats); to not have to see their blank, thirsty eyes begging for some change so they can get a real drug, man (one cinnamon raisin for Liz, two dozen jalapeño for Hellboy and sesame for every-fucking-one else, he thinks one final time).

**Snow Patrol; Headlights On Dark Roads**

John has spent most of his life afraid. He was scared to learn how to drive a car because he thought that, like his parents, he was going to just disappear one day. So his uncle got him a moped. The deal was after a year on the scooter, he would learn how to handle something with four wheels. It took a little longer, about a year and a half. But it worked.

He was scared to go to college too – afraid of leaving his uncle all alone. Thaddeus laughed at him and said that he had managed just about okay on his own before John moved in and he would manage just about okay on his own after John moved out. Sure, it might be a little lonely, but he'd handle fine. Hell, maybe he'd get himself a kitty cat. John raised an eyebrow and quickly ducked into town to run a few errands. He returned later that night with a puppy dog and left for university one month later. The dog's name was Horse and the university was MIT.

The situation at hand, however, is a little more complicated than learning to drive or deciding to go away to college. Primarily because he can see himself walking out of this one not with a new moped or a new dog or a new degree but with a broken jaw. Or a black eye. Or both. Even so, as he tries to rationalize his reluctance, his fear, his whatever, he can hear Uncle Thad laughing in the back of his head. It's a rough, thick guffaw and it's the kind of encouragement John needs. In a weird, self-mocking sort of way. So he takes the implied advice – go for it, what are you so scared of? So he goes for it, even though he's scared of _dying._

So he takes Hellboy's face in his hands and he stands up on tip-toe and presses his open mouth against Hellboy's and it only takes a second for him to react and then he's putting his arms around him and pulling him close, close, closer and John doesn't look back.

**Neutral Milk Hotel; In The Aeroplane Over The Sea**

There's a word for this – this nest of comfort in the Professor's library. There's definitely a singular way to describe how it feels when he's sitting all cuddled against Hellboy while Liz has her sock-covered feet in his lap and she's reading poetry - _the woods are lovely, dark and deep./ But I have promises to keep/ and miles to go before I sleep/ and miles to go before I sleep_ – and Abe is floating in his tank, watching them all with his dark, luminous eyes.

John leans his head back and he swears, over by the staircase, he can see the faint ghost of Professor Trevor Broom smiling ever-so-privately to himself. As Liz begins the next poem – _two roads diverged in a yellow wood/ And sorry I could not travel both_ – and John closes his eyes, it comes to him.

Family.

**Against Me!; Tonight We're Gonna Give It 35**

If his fifteen-year-old self – Johnny, because he went by that back then – could see him now, he'd be very ashamed. If Johnny could see him now, John would be one punch in the gut older. Because with his thick winter coat on and his bags in his arms and his moped helmet under one arm, it's what he deserves. For walking away from the B.P.R.D, from Liz, Abe and _Hellboy_, it's the least he deserves.

John shakes his head as Johnny yells at him – his pubescent voice cracking in anger as he demands _what the fuck do you think you're doing?_ – because a star-struck fifteen year old boy can't even begin to understand the actions of a heartbroken twenty-seven year old man. As he loads up his scooter, John closes his eyes and hopes that, in the grander scheme of things, he can forgive himself.

**The Shins; Know Your Onion!**

John Myers swallowed nervously as he drummed his fingers on the desk. The girl (he thought it was a girl, anyway) in the seat next to him turned and glared. She (guessing on that one) was bald and had three eyes. And fangs. And claws. Fancy. John forced a polite smile and stilled his hands. She hissed at him and turned back to face the front of the classroom.

Unbidden, he began anxiously jiggling his foot. When was the teacher going to get there? Was the teacher going to try and eat him? Would his new classmates help? Oh the joys of being transferred to a _paranormal_ high school. As he was nearing a panic attack, someone pale and pretty slid into the desk behind him.

"Hi!" It was a girl – she looked normal. Normal was nice. "I'm Liz – pyrokenetic. Don't call me a fire starter though, I hate that." Liz waved and her hand burst into flames. John whimpered and tried not to cry. As he was recovering, she pointed to a boy with red skin, horns and a tail sitting across from her. "And this is Hellboy – half-demon." Hellboy grumbled.

"John," he introduced himself shakily, "human."

**Frou Frou; Holding Out For A Hero (Bonnie Tyler Cover)**

It's possible he's going to die. He's backed in an alley, armed only with a flashlight. He lost his gun a few yards into the street, when he was tackled by a demon. The very same demon, coincidentally, that's judging him with an evil glare of evil intent in its evil eye. John throws his flashlight, hoping to distract it at the very least and kill it at the very most. It does neither, as his aim sucks and the flashlight goes sailing over the demon's shoulder.

The demon, not amused under any circumstances, clicks its nails as it crouches down. John inhales deeply, steeling himself for what is going to be an inevitably painful end. He can smell its breath – dank, sour and whistling – as it snorts to itself.

'_C'mon,_' he thinks as he fists his hands, '_just get it over with – stop playing with me._' The demon growls, a steady vibration, and John licks his lips. '_What are you waiting for? Come on, come on!_'

"Hey ugly!" The demon turns its unpretty head to address the voice, perhaps obtain a second course. Hellboy grins around his cigar and cocks the hammer on the Samaritan. He cracks his tail, "chew on this," and pulls the trigger. Admittedly, it is rather difficult to chew on anything when one is missing one's lower jaw.

The demon carcass slumps to one side and Hellboy gracefully jumps down from the roof via drainpipe. "Nice aim," John quips sarcastically as he retrieves his flashlight and gun. "How about next time, you play decoy?"

**Evanescence; I Must Be Dreaming**

_(note: a murder is a flock of crows)_

After the dust settles, of which there is plenty, and John manages to make sense of the world swimming in front of his abused eyes, he wishes he was hit with the sledgehammer a little harder. There's Liz, or what's left of her _oh God don't look don't look they're fucking eating her don't look at her she doesn't have eyes anymore_, laid out on the marble slab. A murder of crow demons hop about her body, cawing and ripping into her flesh with sick, wet relish. John gags, a pathetically weak noise, and it earns him a kick in the ribs. Ilsa nudges him under the chin with her sledgehammer.

"Look who's awake," she croons in her thick accent. "What shall we do with you, hmm?" John spits a bitter mouthful of blood in her face and gets himself a backhand across the face for his troubles. Defiant, he glares up at her. His eyes dare her to hit him again. Her eyes make dangerous promises of pain.

"You will not touch him!" Interrupts a commanding voice. Hellboy – _Anung un Rama_, John corrects himself, _that is not Hellboy_ – grabs Ilsa's arm in his stone hand and squeezes. John can hear the bones crack. "You will not touch what is mine."

As the implication of the order sets in, John turns his head away and vomits. _This can't be happening this can't be happening this can't be happening._ Across the room, the crow demons begin to laugh.

**Cobra Starship; Guilty Pleasure**

A drunk John is adorable. Any kind of John is adorable, but drunk especially. Hellboy feels only slightly guilty about spiking his drink – oh yes, he has to _spike_ the kid's hot chocolate because he's all "I never drink, Red, I can't stand the taste of it!" – but ends and means and all that. Besides, when he has John all warm and pliant against him, it's very much worth it. His big brown eyes are glazed and shiny as he slides his hand up Hellboy's arm.

"I got somethin' to tell ya," he admits shyly.

"Oh yeah?" Hellboy asks with a smirk.

"Uh-huh." Only slightly unbalanced, John crawls across the bed and into his lap. "I love hot chocolate."

"You know what kid? Hot chocolate loves ya' back."


End file.
